First of all, I didn't realize that kale shrunk almost as much as spinach. I had bought a whole pound of kale. It filled the pot. Threw in some free range chicken broth and boiled it for 20 minutes, and voila! I had enough for two people. The other six would have to eat something else.
The salad was diverse. It had two kinds of lettuce, some grape tomatoes, shredded carrots, edamame, and some LaChoy chinese crispy noodles for crunch. I wanted people to experience my favorite Japanese salad dressing, so I doused the mixture with it, tossed it up real nice, then went to take a shower. Halfway through I realized I had made that same mistake once before, and the salad had gotten progressively smaller.
Indeed, when I went to check on it, it had shrunk so much I had to put it in a smaller bowl. Thank god these were my friends, and not my future in-laws. They would understand and not judge me.
Turns out there was plenty of food. The turkey was smoked. Whoa. Everything was delicious. It was all laid out on the table, and it looked good. My dear friend Mike, who makes me look wishy washy, came out with a checklist to make sure everything was out. I had to laugh, because it looked ridiculous, but also because I would have done the exact same thing.
Lisa, Mike's wife, made this really cool soup (yes, I actually said cool soup) that was clear with scallions and carrot slices cut in the shape of fancy goldfish. I'm not kidding, look at the photo.
Mike went into the kitchen to carve the turkey, and it's a good thing he did it there. He had on the same kind of yellow rubber gloves I use when I'm cleaning the bathroom, and he tore that thing apart. I had to get rid of the association of toilets and turkeys, so I went back into the dining room to clear my head.
The turkey came out nicely sliced, and it smelled like smoked turkey, not disinfectant, thank goodness. It was delicious. For dessert there were three kinds of pie, and I had slices of two of them. Pure heaven.
For some reason, as we were all chatting away, satisfied and full to the brim, Mike brought out the turkey carcass and started hacking away at it right at the table. When he was done, it looked like a car that one of my boyfriends once had. He wanted to collect insurance money, so he took it to Harlem and left it there for a couple of days, with the doors unlocked. By the time the miscreants were done with it, it was hardly recognizable as a car. They got the radio, the tires, and some parts, and my boyfriend got his insurance money. I thought about this as I looked at what was once a turkey.
I wanted to take one of the nice cloth napkins and cover it up like they do at the morgue. The mother turkey would have to come along and identify her son, who was killed and then smoked, and then hacked to pieces. It would be too much for her; the family friend would have to do the awful deed. "Yes... yes, this is Tom. I'd recognize that pop up thermometer anywhere."
My overactive imagination did not get the best of me, and I had a delightful time. After Mike and Lisa read this, will they invite me over again?
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